


You Should Stay

by Ichabodjane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ichabodjane/pseuds/Ichabodjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the best night of her semester turns into the worst night of her semester, Clarke heads to her friend Octavia's to crash for the night.  She finds Octavia's brother there instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr as a response to a prompt. "Bellarke: You heard me. Take. It. Off." Started out as one shot but it doesn't seem to want to stay that way so we'll see what happens.

Clarke Griffin was having an exceedingly bad night. And that was probably the understatement of the century.

 

It had started out great. Fantastic, even. How could it not? A night spent away from her anatomy flashcards and instead going out to the hottest new club in town with some friends and especially her super cute (and very new) boyfriend? It should have been the best night of her freshman semester.

 

It had taken some convincing on Finn's part (it was a Thursday after all and unlike Finn, _some_ people still had class on Friday). But she hadn't been able to resist his puppy face for long. So Clarke had borrowed a very short dress and some very tall heels from her roommate Raven, put on way more eye liner than usual, and headed out for a night on the town. She had even worn the ridiculously sparkly headband that her mother hated and she loved.

 

Against all odds, the club had turned out to be just as good as everyone said. Finn's friends were pretty awesome, too. So when Raven texted to see how everything was going, it was only natural that Clarke should tell her to come and join them.

 

Awesome club. Cute boyfriend. Cool friends. Fun roommate.

 

Terrible, awful disaster.

 

Finn, as it turned out, wasn't just Clarke's boyfriend. He was also Raven's boyfriend from high school. Finn had told her he was going to the small art school up in the mountains. Finn was actually going to the big state school. The one that Clarke and Raven attended. Finn thought the school was big enough that he wouldn't run into Raven.

 

Finn was wrong.

 

And Finn got punched.

 

Clarke fully expected to get punched right along with him, but Raven hadn't even looked at her, just stalked right back out of the club. Somehow, that was worse.

 

Finn had tried to explain himself, pulling on Clarke's arm as she shoved her way through the crowd, begging for understanding, for forgiveness. But Clarke understood the situation completely and was in no mood to be lenient. If there was anything Clarke Griffin hated, it was a liar. So she had turned around long enough to slap him full in the face and see him careen into a bouncer before finally making it out the door.

 

And that was how Clarke Griffin ended up tottering her way up the street at 1am in the pouring rain on the best night of her semester.

 

“Of course it had to be raining,” she muttered, trying to rub some feeling into her arms, “Not on the way into the club, oh no, then its all twinkling stars and gleaming moonlight. No, _now_ it rains.”

 

She glanced up at the nearest street sign, weighing her options. She certainly couldn't go back to her dorm, not when Raven could be waiting for her. But she also hadn't made a whole lot of other friends so far. She could call her mother, but the thought of making Abby drive an hour and half to come pick her up filled her with dread. She could almost hear the lecture now. “I told you to focus on your studies, not go chasing boys. And now look where that got you.” So no, her mother was out. There was that girl Octavia, the one who had graduated high school early and gotten an impressive scholarship to boot. Octavia lived in her own apartment; Clarke had been there once for their study group. Squinting up at the street sign, Clarke realized she wasn't actually too far from it. Octavia had seemed nice, like the kind of girl who would help out a fellow female in a bind. And it was certainly better than curling up in a doorway for the rest of the night...

 

Propelled by the prospect of not being rained on anymore, Clarke made it to the building in only a few minutes, though the straps of her (Raven's) shoes were already ripping blisters into the backs of her feet. She pulled the offending footwear off and started climbing the slightly rickety wooden stairs. It was an old building, but right now, it looked positively palatial. And, joy of joys, there was actually a light shining from the upstairs windows.

 

At the door, she hesitated for just a moment before gathering her courage and rapping soundly on the peeling paint.

 

“Please be awake, please be awake, please be awake...” she muttered under her breath.

 

It took a minute, but eventually the door opened, revealing a rather cranky looking young man in boxers and a worn t-shirt. Confusion mixed with the annoyed expression on his face.  He looked vaguely familiar.

 

Clarke, meanwhile, was all astonishment. “Y-your n-not O-Octavia,” she stated idiotically, trying to keep her teeth from chattering too loudly.

 

“Nope,” he responded, looking her up and down. Clarke knew she must look like a wreck, in this stupid sequined dress, holding her shoes, with mascara running down her face. She saw his forehead knot with concern, “Are you...are you okay?”

 

_NO!_ her brain screamed. _Yes_ , she planned to say. “I-I w-w-was looking for Octavia?” was what came out of her mouth.

 

“She's not here, she won't be back until tomorrow,” he opened the door wider, “Do you want to come in? You look...” he paused, “wet.”

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Clarke quipped. Part of her brain told her that it was complete lunacy to enter an apartment, alone, with a guy she didn't know. But then all the other parts of her brain registered that the apartment was dry and warm and well lit and she found herself stepping inside. It wasn't until the door was shut that something clicked in her brain. “Y-your B-bellamy,” she said, “Octavia's b-brother.” Now she remembered. Octavia lived with her brother. She had seen him from a distance a couple of times, picking Octavia up from class in a worn truck. She had liked the truck. It had looked beat up but well loved.

 

Bellamy's voice brought her back to the present, “Yeah,” he was saying, “And you are?”

 

“C-Clarke G-Griffin. I'm in b-biology with Octavia.”

 

“And you are out walking in the rain because...” he raised his eyebrows.

 

Clarke tried to draw herself up to her full height, which was difficult seeing as her body wanted nothing more than to curl into a heat-retaining ball on the floor. “I-I j-just needed a p-place t-to crash. My roommate and I...I don't think she wants t-to see me r-right now and I thought m-maybe O-Octavia w-wouldn't m-mind...” all of a sudden, she felt tears pricking her eyes. She wiped them roughly with the heel of her palm. Yes, that was definitely what she needed to make this night better. Crying over a stupid boy in front of her not-quite-yet-friend's older brother.

 

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face. Clarke noticed that he looked pretty exhausted and she remembered Octavia mentioning his long work hours. Behind him, the TV was on but playing an infomercial for a kid's toy. There was a blanket in a heap in front of the couch. Maybe he had fallen asleep there. She instantly felt guilty for bothering him.

 

“L-look, I c-can just-”

 

“No, you can stay here,” he cut her off. She could hear the fatigue in his voice, “You can't go back out there, you'll die of hypothermia. Unless there's some place I can drive you to?”

 

She shrugged, looking down at the wood floor, “I-I d-don't r-really know a l-lot of people around h-here...”

 

“Okay, well, you can stay. You should stay. If you want. I mean, you're a friend of O's so...you know. But you'll have to take the dress off.”

 

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide as saucers, “E-excuse me?!”

 

“You heard me,” he said, “Take. It. Off.”

 

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Clarke took a slow step backwards towards the door, gripping one heel a bit tighter in her hand. It was a stiletto, with a steel core, so it might make a half decent weapon if it came to it but maybe she could reach the door before-

 

Bellamy's brain finally seemed to catch up with his words and a look of horror crossed his face, “Oh god, no, that's not- fuck- no, that is absolutely not what I meant. I'm sorry, please, I didn't...oh, shit. I just meant that you need dry clothes to sleep in, that's it. I can go get something for you. I just- sorry.”

 

Clarke hesitated for another moment, heel still at the ready.

 

“Are you...are you planning on stabbing me with that?” he had the gall to sound amused.

 

“M-m-maybe,” she tried to sound intimidating but the chattering teeth kind of spoiled the effect.

 

“Okay. Well, while you're deciding, Princess, I'll go find you dry clothes,” he turned and walked down the hall, leaving her to drip awkwardly onto the floorboards.

 

He came back a minute later with a t-shirt and sweatpants, “The bathroom's right there,” he jabbed a thumb towards a door in the kitchen before collapsing onto the couch, asking the TV “what the fuck is this shit?” and reaching for the remote.

 

Clarke felt a bit strange, wearing a stranger's clothes. A male stranger's clothes. But they were dry and smelled good and were way more comfortable than the dress. She untangled the headband from her hair and tried to get the worst of the mascara off before going back into the kitchen.

 

He was making tea when she came out and he handed her a cup without her asking, before tossing another blanket and a pillow onto the couch. “I know it looks old but its really not bad for sleeping,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Anyway...ummm...O's supposed to be back in the morning, so...yeah. Do you...do you need anything else?”

 

“Oh no, no, I'm okay, thanks,” she smiled, “this...this looks great.”

 

They looked at each other for a few seconds of awkward silence.

 

“Yeah, okay, well, I'll...I'll just be down the hall, you know...if you need anything.” He started walking away.

 

“Hey,” she called. He looked over his shoulder. “Thanks. I mean, like...I could be a murderer or something...and you just gave me the couch, so...thanks.”

 

He smiled a bit, “I've seen you with Octavia. I'm pretty sure she's not friends with murderers,” he turned back around, “Besides, a stiletto is a pretty lame murder weapon.”

 

Clarke found herself smiling as she cocooned herself in the blankets. Her phone buzzed.

 

Roomie Raven: “Finn's an ass. Sorry you got caught in the middle. Where are you? You need me to come get you?”

 

Clarke texted back: “Agreed. And I'm good for the night. See you tomorrow.”

 

Her last thought before falling asleep was the Octavia's brother was pretty nice. And also, truth be told, pretty good looking, too.


	2. Omelettes and Fuckboys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I thought, this didn't want to stay a one-shot. So here's chapter 2!

Ten AM the next morning found Bellamy standing halfway between his living room and his kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee and studying the girl still fast asleep on his couch.

 

Whatever he had expected to find when he answered the door last night, she was definitely not it. A drunk kid, maybe, or food being delivered to the wrong address. Not a barefooted, sparkly-headband-wearing, rather water-logged friend of his sister's. What he said was true; he had seen her with Octavia before, just never close enough to get a good look at her. He had remembered the hair though, the way that bright blond stuck out next to his sister's dark coloring. But he had to wonder what it was that drove her to their door last night. Obviously, she was out at the clubs because why else would someone wear a dress that revealing that late in the year? Or such ridiculous shoes. Bellamy smiled into his cup, thinking about her brandishing one heel at him, and then immediately grimaced when he remembered why she had been doing that in the first place. How could he have been such an idiot? She had obviously taken a big risk just by coming into the apartment with a strange guy and then he had to go and insinuate something awful. Of course she got freaked out.

 

Clarke, however, didn't seem bothered by anything at the moment. She was completely sprawled across the couch, one arm hanging down towards the floor and one leg bent up so her foot hooked around the upper cushion. Her hair was all over the place and her mouth was hanging open slightly so that, if she wasn't exactly snoring, she was at least breathing rather loudly. He hadn't noticed it much the night before but it was obvious now that she was rather short. Her feet just barely hit the opposite arm of the couch and his sweatpants seems to extend at least a couple inches past her toes. And another detail he had missed in his earlier grogginess- Clarke was actually pretty cute.

 

These thoughts, however, were interrupted by a loud creak as Octavia opened the front door.

 

“Hey, B-”

 

He cut her off with a shake of his head. Holding one finger to his lips, he jerked his head towards the couch. Octavia dropped her bag and walked over with a confused expression, which changed to complete surprise when she saw Clarke. A moment later, she turned to Bellamy, her eyebrows raised suggestively.

 

Oh God, of course that's the conclusion she'd jump to first. _No, O,_ he mouthed.

 

 _Then what?_ She mouthed back.

 

“She showed up around one in the morning, looking for you,” he whispered, “She thought you could give her a place to crash.”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugged, “Fought with her roommate or something.”

 

“Who, Raven?”

 

He shrugged again, giving her a how-the-hell-should-I-know face.

 

Octavia looked back at Clarke. “Damn, that girl sleeps _hard_ ,” she noted.

 

Bellamy nodded, “She didn't even flinch when the freight train came through an hour ago.” He had actually been pretty impressed by that, considering that the tracks were less than a block away from their building and it seemed like the train drivers took it as their personal mission to wake up everyone in a five mile radius.

 

“We probably shouldn't just stand here staring at her,” Octavia pointed out, “Its kind of weird.”

 

Bellamy _hmm_ 'd in agreement as he took another sip of coffee. Neither of them moved. Octavia seemed to still being trying to process the fact that Clarke was even there. Bellamy just found it strangely fascinating to watch her. He knew O was right. It _was_ a bit creepy to just stand there, watching a stranger sleep. But on the other hand, he had never seen someone sleep quite so, as Octavia put it, _hard._ They stood there for another few moments until Clarke let out a small groan and started rubbing her face with one hand.

 

“Shit, go, _move_ ,” Octavia hissed . She shoved Bellamy towards the kitchen, spilling some of his coffee, which he had been in the middle of drinking. She kept pushing until they were all the way over by the opposite wall, where they definitely would _not_ look like they had been watching Clarke sleep like a couple of weirdos.

 

Fortunately, Clarke didn't seem to have noticed theirpresence. She slowly heaved herself up into a sitting position, yawned rather loudly, and started trying to tame her hair. She looked around the living room blankly for a second before recognition dawned on her face. She groaned again, dropping her head into her hands.

 

Octavia took this as her cue to say a cheerful, “Morning!”

 

Clarke jumped and turned around, “Oh, h-hi, Octavia,” she replied, blushing slightly, “Bellamy.”

 

“Morning,” he raised his mug slightly.

 

They all stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Octavia broke the awkward silence, “Well, I was wondering why you weren't in bio lecture, buuut I guess that's because you were sleeping on my couch.”

 

“Oh crap, I totally forgot about bio!”

 

“No, its okay, it was mostly review today anyway,” O told her, “I took some notes for you. And you have one of the highest grades in the class so I wouldn't be too worried,” Clarke didn't look too convinced of that, but Octavia kept going, “Do you want some breakfast? My big bro here makes a mean omelette.”

 

“Oh, its okay,” Clarke shook her head, looking embarrassed, “I don't want to impose. I've already been enough trouble.”

 

“What? No, no way,” Octavia dismissed her worries with a wave of her hand, “All you did was make sure Bellamy actually slept his own damn bed for once, instead of falling asleep in front of the TV like he usually does.”

 

Clarke tried to refuse again but Octavia just insisted that she was a guest and no self-respecting Blake would ever let a guest leave without being fed.

 

“Thanks for volunteering me for cook duty,” Bellamy remarked, after Clarke had given in and headed for the bathroom, “What if I didn't feel like making omelettes?”

 

Octavia gave his shoulder a good-natured shove, “Shut up, you always feel like making omelettes.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, though his smile said she was right, as usual.

 

Twenty minutes later, all three were sitting down to a table with Bellamy's omelettes, a full pot of coffee, and a carton of orange juice that Bellamy was reasonably certain was still okay to drink.

 

“Good, right?” Octavia asked after Clarke had taken her first bite.

 

“This is potentially the best omelette in the universe,” she stated emphatically, “I may have to marry it. Seriously,” she turned to Bellamy, “this is amazing.”

 

He tried to shrug off her praise, “Its really not that complicated.”

 

Clarke snorted, “Yeah, well, you're talking to a girl who once burned oatmeal so this seems pretty impressive.”

 

“Dude, how do you even do that?” Octavia looked almost impressed.

 

“You have a nanny who insists that microwaving food zaps it of all its nutrients and then said nanny tells you to watch the oatmeal pot while she goes to her room for a second, only to get so wrapped up in _Days of Our Lives_ that she doesn't come back until the smoke alarm goes off,” she took a sip of coffee, “To be fair, I was nine and I had never been allowed near the stove before, so I don't know what she was expecting.”

 

Before he could stop himself, Bellamy exchanged an incredulous look with his sister. “You didn't make any food for yourself until you were _nine_ ?” Octavia asked, her voice rising in surprise, “Also, you had a _nanny_? That lived with you? Like in Mary Poppins?”

 

Clarke snorted again, “None of them were Mary Poppins but yeah, there was always one living with us until I was about fourteen. My parents, they had long work hours and they had to travel a lot so...” she trailed off, her eyes moving back and forth between the other two. Bellamy realized he was ever so slightly gaping. He turned back to his plate, not wanting to be rude. Octavia, though, kept right on staring. “I mean, didn't _you_ guys ever have babysitters?” Clarke asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

 

“Yeah,” Octavia pointed, “him.” Bellamy shook his head just a bit, trying to tell her to drop the subject. Clarke didn't need to hear about their childhood, not when she seemed to come from serious money. She had to, she had live-in nannies her whole life. In his experience, people with money tended to pity people who had grown up like him and his sister. And pity was one thing he did not need. His gaze flicked to Clarke and caught her looking straight at him. The second their eyes met, she dropped her gaze and attacked her omelette with renewed zeal.

 

There wasn't any conversation for the next few minutes as they all concentrated on eating. Octavia finished first, because Octavia always ate like a squirrel on cocaine. “So,” she said, reaching for the coffee pot, “You wanna talk about what happened to you last night?”

 

Bellamy fought back an annoyed sigh. For all he loved her, his sister _really_ did not possess an overabundance of tact. Clarke, meanwhile, seemed to think that taking a couple massive gulps of orange juice would hide the fact that her cheeks were turning bright red.

 

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” he assured her, flashing Octavia a warning look.

 

Clarke glanced at him, glass still held at her lips. After a beat, she put it down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “No, its okay. Its not a big deal. It was just pretty stupid, that's all.” He wanted to tell her that it couldn't have been that stupid if she had walked God knows how far in the pouring rain just avoid seeing her roommate, but she was still talking, “I was dating this guy, Finn-”

 

“The one with the hair?” Octavia cut in.

 

Clarke sighed, “Yeah, that's the one. We went out clubbing last night and it was really fun, so I invited Raven, my roommate, to come meet up with us. And when she got there, it turned out that she already knew Finn because he's- well, was- also _her_ boyfriend and he told her he was going to school somewhere else but he was actually going here and long story short, she punched him in the face,” she finished in a rush.

 

Octavia's jaw had dropped, “Are you _serious?_   What did you do?”

 

“I...uhh...” Clarke wrinkled her nose and scratched at her forehead as her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson, “I may have slapped him into a bouncer.”

 

“Fucking. Awesome,” O declared, stretching her hand across the table, “Well done.” Though still red-faced, Clarke smiled and gave her a high five. “So you came here cause Raven's pissed at you? Cause that's totally stupid. How were you supposed to know?”

 

“Yeah, I thought she was but she texted me and we're cool,” Clarke explained.

 

“Chicks before dicks,” Octavia nodded sagely.

 

Bellamy nearly choked on his coffee, “ _what_?”

 

“Its a thing,” his sister assured him. He glanced between her and Clarke, who was nodding in solemn agreement.

 

“She's actually bringing some clothes over for me, if that's okay. I mean, I appreciate you lending me some,” she turned to Bellamy, “But I kind of wanted shoes.”

 

“Probably a good idea,” he nodded. After a moment, he added, “And it was a good idea to slap him, too. Idiot deserved it.”

 

Her cheeks flushed again and she turned to her mug, “Thanks. I promise, I'm not usually that violent. I just...I dunno, I just did it,” her voice had a note of surprise, as though she couldn't believe her own actions.

 

“Eh, whatever,” Octavia shrugged, “He's a total fuckboy.”

 

Bellamy wanted to ask her what exactly a _fuckboy_ was but Clarke's phone lit up and started vibrating its way across the table.

 

“Hello? Hey! Yeah, its up the stairs on the right side. Okay, see ya,” she hung up and turned to them, “Raven's here.”

 

Raven was taller than Clarke and had darker hair than Octavia. And she definitely seemed like the sort of person who would break your nose for cheating on her. As Clarke changed in the bathroom, Octavia offered her sympathies, repeating the fact that Finn was a fuckboy.

 

“Yeah, well, his loss,” Raven said, looking supremely unconcerned, “Thanks for giving Clarke a place to crash, by the way. After I left the club, I wasn't really thinking straight but I figured she'd just come back to the dorm. I mean, it wasn't her fault. Chicks before dicks, man.”

 

“ _Exactly,_ ” Octavia sent Bellamy a see-I-told-you-so look.

 

Clarke came out of the bathroom before he could reply, dressed in her own sweater and jeans.

 

“Thanks again, for the clothes and breakfast and everything,” she said, holding out Bellamy's clothes, folded as neatly as she had folded the blankets on the couch.

 

He was taken aback by her grateful smile. It was so earnest and warm, as though he had done more than just give her the couch and the only clean clothes he could find. He wanted to say something that matched her earnestness, but he didn't know what that should be. The not-knowing unnerved him, so he muttered a lame-sounding, “Yeah, no problem,” as he reached for the pile. Their hands brushed together just long enough for him to register the warmth of her fingers before she pulled away, stepping back to thank Octavia.

 

He trailed behind as his sister walked them the few steps to the door and onto the landing outside. He stood there with her as Raven and Clarke headed for a small red car parked out front. Clarke waved at them before sliding into the passenger seat.

 

“I told you she was really nice,” Octavia said, waving back enthusiastically.

 

 _What you didn't tell me was_ _how attractive she was_.

 

He just managed to keep the words from coming out of his mouth.  Lord knows, he would never live it down if he did.


	3. Sketches and Pop Music

Neither Clarke nor Raven said anything as they drove away from the Blakes' apartment.  T he further they drove, the more nervous Clarke got. Raven had said they were cool but it couldn't be easy, seeing a guy you had dated for five years (and thought you were still dating) sliding his hands up your roommate on the dance floor.  It would only be natural, instinctive even, for there to be  _ some  _ sort of resentment there.  Clarke absolutely hated it when people were mad at her.  The thought of having someone upset over something she had done, especially when it was someone she actually considered a friend, was like someone poking her neck with a sharpened pencil over and over.  A) It hurt and b) she couldn't concentrate on anything until the problem had been fixed.

 

When the silence hit the ten minute mark, Clarke snapped  and  blurt ed out, “Look, I'm really sorry about last night.  And about dating Finn.  I swear, I had _ no idea _ he was your boyfriend.”

 

Raven was a bit taken aback but recovered quickly, “Dude, of course you didn't.  I told you, it wasn't your fault.”

 

“I know, I just...I still feel bad.”

 

“Well, don't,” Raven commanded, “This is all on him.  Seriously, I can't believe he tried to pull that shit.  He was acting weird over the summer but...” she trailed off, shaking her head.

 

“ Yeah, that is really weird,” Clarke agreed, trying to resist the urge to gnaw on her thumbnail, “But like, I _ really _ didn't-”

 

“ Clarke ,” there was a slight edge to Raven's voice now, “It's not your fault and I don't blame you at all.  I'm not mad at you.  We are good.  But that doesn't mean I really want to talk about it anymore.  Okay?”

 

“ Okay.”

 

“So,” she cocked an eyebrow, “moving on to more important matters.Octavia'sbrother's pretty hot.”

 

Clarke felt her cheeks flushing, “Oh, yeah...yeah, I guess.”

 

They had reached the freshman parking lot.

 

“ You _ guess _ ?” Raven snorted, pulling into the first available space, “Did you _ see _ his arms?  Also, maybe his face?  That boy could melt the panties off a nun.”  The observation sent them both into a fit of giggles that didn't stop until they were on the sidewalk and heading back to their dorm.

 

“ So Octavia said she wasn't home last night,” Raven remarked when they could finally speak again, “she said Bellamy let you in.  So you two were alone together.

 

Clarke groaned, “Yeah, and I'm sure I made a hell of an impression, with mascara all over my face.  And I may have threatened him with a shoe.”

 

“Wait, you what?”

 

 

By the time Clarke had finished telling her the whole story, they were back in their room and getting ready for class.

 

"You do realize that you just described the set up to like, half of the romance novels ever published?" Raven said as she shoved her laptop in her bag, "Girl gets jilted, goes running off in the rain, meets hot and helpful stranger?"

 

Clarke was about to reply that she had had enough of guys for awhile and maybe she really should just focus on her studies but her phone lit up before she could speak.  Her stomach dropped when she saw the screen flash a picture of her mother's flustered face next to Clarke's smiling one. (Abby didn't approve of selfies so Clarke had surprised her with one, insisting that she needed it for caller ID purposes.)

 

She answered the phone with a forced-cheerful, "Hello?"

 

"Clarke?  Is everything okay?  You didn't call this morning."  Abby sounded more worried than angry, which Clarke decided to take as a good sign.

 

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I slept in a bit today.  I wasn't feeling that well," she coughed for effect (her voice was still helpfully raspy from her late night).  Across the room, Raven snorted, though quietly enough that her mother probably hadn't heard.

 

"So you didn't go to your biology lecture?" And there was the annoyed tone that Clarke knew so well.

 

"N-no, I didn't.  But my friend Octavia took notes for me," she added quickly, "And I have like, one of the highest grades in the class so its okay, Mom, really-"

 

"Were you drinking last night?"

 

"No, Mom, I just wasn't feeling well," it wasn't really a lie, Clarke told herself.  Abby was asking if she was hungover, which she wasn't, and it was true that she had been feeling crappy when she woke up.  She didn't mention that Bellamy's omelette had done a lot to help with that problem.  She opted instead to repeat that Octavia would give her the notes and that her academic career had not been thrown into complete disarray from one missed lecture.

 

"Alright, alright," Abby's voice softened, "You know I just worry, that's all.  What are you up to now?"

 

"Getting ready to go to art class.  You know, for my fine arts credit."

 

"So you weren't feeling well enough to go to biology but you're fine to go to art?" Again with the annoyance and not a little bit of suspicion.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes to the ceiling, willing herself to remain calm, "I was coughing a lot when I woke up.  I'm feeling better now so I thought I should get to at least one class for the day, okay?"

 

Silence.  She could imagine her mother's face right now, lips pinched, trying to decide which was more valuable- her time or her lecture on seriousness and responsibility.  Really, it was just the one lecture that she'd been giving Clarke her whole life.  Abby occasionally put it on hold but it was only ever a matter of time before she delivered the next installment.

 

"How did your morning go?" Clarke made a valiant attempt at distraction.

 

"I had a meeting with Marcus.  Marcus Kane, you remember him?  He was in charge of...of your father's case."

 

Clarke stood straighter, pressing the phone to her ear, "Is there...did he find anything new?"

 

Abby's sigh was sad, "No, honey, they didn't.  We- _he_ just wanted to go over a few things.  Your father would be so proud of you, you know.  At that big school all by yourself, on your way to becoming a doctor-"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said, forcing her voice through the lump in her throat.  That meeting with Kane must have stirred something up; Abby wasn't usually this emotional over the phone.  Clarke didn't think she could take it, not after all the emotions of the night before.  And she certainly didn't want to talk about the hopes her dad had had for her future, "I'm sorry, Mom, I have to get to class.  Call you later?"

 

"Sure, of course.  I love you."

 

"I, uh, love you, too."

 

"Everything okay?" Raven asked as she shoved the phone in her back pocket.

 

"Yeah, totally," Clarke gave her a brilliant smile, "Let's go."

 

They hefted their bags and headed out into the hallway.  Raven pulled the door shut with a bang, "So how's Doctor Abby?"

 

Raven and Abby had warmed to each other immediately when they all met on move-in day.  Clarke figured it was because they had the same take-absolutely-no-shit-from-anyone outlook on life.

 

"Same as ever," she replied, "Loving and lecture-filled.  I think she thinks my art class is frivolous or something."

 

Raven shrugged, "Dude, you're in mostly sophomore level science classes.  I think you've earned the right to an easy A in something.  And anyway who cares?  Y ou like it, right?"

 

Before Clarke could answer, they walked out of the dorm building and saw Finn standing in the middle of the courtyard, sporting a raging black eye and what must have been his best attempt at a contrite expression.  He was holding flowers that looked suspiciously similar to the ones planted near the physics labs.  He took a step towards her and started bending down as if he was going to kneel but the sight of Raven stopped him dead in his tracks.

 

Having no idea how to handle such a situation, Clarke's immediate instinct was to head right back into the dorm, possibly never to come out again.  Lucky for her, Raven took over.

 

"You better be here for me,” she said, loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

 

 

It took a few seconds for Finn to unfreeze himself, but he eventually managed to stammer out, "Y-yes, of course I am.  Raven, I-"

 

"Good.  Now you can fuck off."  She linked her arm through Clarke's and strode away without so much as a backwards glance, pulling a dumbfounded Clarke along with her.  They left Finn standing there looking as stunned as if he had been slapped again.

 

They made their way across the campus, Clarke slightly jogging to keep up with Raven's furious stride.  For someone with a leg brace, she could really set a mean pace.  In between dodging light poles and backpacks, Clarke couldn't help but stare at her in something akin to awe.  She had never seen someone deal with a douchebag boyfriend quite so efficiently or quite so terrifyingly as her roommate just had.  “Damn,” she said, “that was...”

 

“Exactly what he deserved,” Raven declared, “Thinks he can come crawling back with some stupid flowers, like I'm just some brainless bimbo- like _either_ of us is just some moron who's gonna take him back cause he can stand there and look sad.  He can fucking bite me.  See you for dinner.”  She clapped Clarke on the shoulder and disappeared into the engineering building.

 

It was a relief to finally get to her drawing class.  Art had always been the one activity where Clarke felt she could just  _be_.  Where she could exist without any expectations or pressures.  Just her and her pencils and the quiet rasping sounds they made as they moved across the paper.  She liked the teacher, too- a plump old lady who randomly stopped her lectures to stare at the ceiling for five minutes at a time and insisted that they all call her Valeria instead of Dr. Harlow.  There was a decades-old rumor going around that Valeria had done so many drugs in the sixties that all of her paintings were just renditions of her LSD flashbacks.  But Valeria had also given them two solid weeks of free periods after they turned in their first major assignment, so no one was complaining.

 

Since Valeria also wasn't terribly strict about punctuality, Clarke was one of the first to arrive.  She claimed a seat by the window and pulled out her supplies, calling a greeting to Valeria, who was busy smearing paint across her canvas in the back of the room.

 

“Remember, Miss Griffin, let go your mind and let the drawing flow through your fingers,” was the reply.  That was Valeria's favored technique.  Space out and then let your hands, not your head, create what they want.  It was very difficult, mainly because Clarke's brain was most comfortable when it was going a mile a minute.   After the chaos of the last twelve hours, though, it was nice to lean her face on her hand and not think about anything except for how warm the sun was on the back of her neck.  She idly wondered if she could get away with just shutting her eyes and napping for the rest of class.  Maybe she should draw something simple first.  A tree or a bowl of fruit.  Make it look like she was at least sort of doing something.  She yawned as her pencil started moving.  Yeah, a nice bowl of fruit and then a nice sneaky nap would do her just fine.

 

“My my, Miss Griffin, feeling inspired today, are we?”

 

Clarke's head jerked up.  Valeria had somehow snuck up behind her and was staring intently at the sketchpad.  A quick glance around told her that she was the only one in the room and a further glance at the clock told her that class had ended twenty minutes ago.  _What the hell?_  Somehow she had spent almost two hours drawing a bowl of fruit.  She looked down at her paper, wondering what the hell kind of fruit she had been drawing.

 

It turned out that she hadn't been drawing fruit.

 

She had been drawing Bellamy Blake.

 

He was looking over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips and one eyebrow raised.  It was how she had seen him look at Octavia that morning, turning away from the stove to tease her about something, his words mocking but his eyes full of affection.  She remembered being momentarily fascinated by his expression and by the dynamic between him and his sister, the current of fierce love that ran through every word, every look, every gesture between them.

 

“And can I ask who is the source of this inspiration?” Valeria was actually giggling, “He's very handsome, I have to say.”

 

“Oh,ummm,errr,” Clarke leaned away from her, wracking a totally uncooperative brain for an answer that didn't sound too pathetic. _He's my friend's brother.  He's the super hot guy who let me wear his clothes last night.  He's potentially both the hottest and most talented omelette maker in the known universe._   “I...uh...dreamed about him?”

 

_Dreamed about him?  You dreamed about him?  Jesus, Griffin, get it together._

 

But this was apparently the right answer to give her art teacher.  Valeria's eyes almost bugged out of her head and she launched into a slightly nonsensical ramble on the power of dreams and how they could be guided by using the right crystals.  As she talked, Clarke scrambled to collect her things and then, with a hurried excuse about being late for her next class, she fled.

 

Once safely out of the building, she found a secluded bench and pulled her sketchbook out again.  It was a really good drawing, she had to admit.  It was actually one of the best she had ever done and Clarke was usually quick to find fault with her own work.  Maybe she should chalk it up to Valeria's teaching.  It would probably be safest to do so.  As her mother would say, “you're there to study, not to chase boys,” and Finn had been a perfect example of that.  Still, Bellamy didn't seem like Finn.  He seemed like the complete opposite, in fact.  And Lord knew, he made a damn good omelette.

 

Her phone buzzed and she gave a guilty start, like the phone had somehow caught her doing something she shouldn't.  Shaking her head to rid it of that ridiculous thought ( _what is with me, today?)_  , she saw that it was a series of texts from Octavia, coming in rapid fire.

 

Octavia the Awesome (Octavia had entered her name herself): Hey there!

 

Octavia the Awesome: I forgot to give you the bio notes before you left!  And then I left them at home. :/

 

Octavia the Awesome: Wanna come to my place after class?

 

Octavia the Awesome: I can go over them with you.

 

Octavia the Awesome: We can get pizza! [Here she added an emoji of a pizza slice.]

 

 

Octavia the Awesome: No omelettes as Bell is working. V disappoint. [Emoji of a thumbs down.]

 

Octavia the Awesome: I am out of class at 4.  Meet at main library? [Emoji of a book.]

 

And then another text.

 

Roomie Raven: Hey, sorry to bail but are you okay if we don't do dinner tonight?  I gotta meet up with some moron and set him straight on some shit.  Fucking engineers.

 

Clarke: No problem.  Also, you do remember that you're an engineer, right?

 

Roomie Raven: I'm mechanical engineering.  This idiot's fucking chem e.  And he needs to be set straight.

 

Clarke: Okay, dude.  Don't hurt yourself.  Or him.

 

Roomie Raven: [Emoji of a devil, complete with horns.]

 

“Well that...worked out well,” Clarke muttered to herself, “Like...weirdly well.”  She went back toOctavia'smessages.

 

Clarke: Sounds good!  See you then.  Will mourn for lack of omelettes in suitable fashion.

 

When she met up with her outside the library, Octavia was practically bouncing on her toes.  Not for the first time, Clarke wondered how so much energy could fit into one person.

 

“I know, right?” Octavia laughed when Clarke voiced her thoughts, “But until I was sixteen, I never got to go anywhere or see anybody.  I mean it!  I talked to like, maybe ten people tops.”  As they headed off of campus, she filled Clarke in on the story of her childhood.  She and her mother and brother had lived on the outskirts of an old industrial town, once bustling and now desolate.  Recognizing her daughter's intelligence, Aurora Blake had spent her days home schooling Octavia and her nights working whatever job would keep food on the table.

 

“But Bellamy went to school?” Clarke asked.  They had stopped in the grocery store to stock up for the evening.

 

“Yeah, though I think it was a total waste of time,” Octavia snorted, throwing a massive bag of chocolate chips into their basket, “He was always way ahead of everyone else.  Read a lot of books and stuff, you know?  But I think he liked getting out of the house.  We didn't really live close to anybody, so it was just the three of us all the time.  So yeah, being cooped up in the middle of nowhere for forever gave me a lot of pent up energy, I guess.  Oh man, have you tried these?” she rattled a bag of some bizarre foreign candy, “Its _insane_.”

 

Clarke really did like spending time with Octavia.  She hadn't ever met someone who so absolutely couldn't care less what anybody thought of her.  She bought candy and ice cream and chocolate without voicing a single worry for her figure.  When a guy across the street wolf whistled at them, she flipped him off without so much as a glance in his direction.  And when the wolf whistle turned into a jeer, she screamed a take down so fierce that the jerk actually slunk off without another word.

“So does your mom still live back there?” They were in theBlakes' apartment now, spreading their notes and textbooks across the living room floor.

 

“Nah,” Octavia leaned over to study a note card, “She died.  Two years ago.  Fucking redneck drunk driver.”

 

_Nice going, Griffin._   “Oh...oh I'm sorry,” Clarke stammered, “I didn't mean to-”

 

“Its okay,” Octavia interrupted.  In the kitchen, the oven started up an insistent beeping.  Octavia got up to pull the pizza out, talking over her shoulder, “I mean, its not okay cause it sucks but...well you know.  I was only fifteen, so Bellamy had to fight the county to get custody,” she picked at a spot on the counter, “But we're here now, so that's...that's good.”

 

Clarke hesitated for a moment.  She wanted to tell her, wanted Octavia to know that she wasn't completely alone in that awful situation.  But she also didn't need to burden anyone with her sob story.  Her resolve broke when she heard a small sniff.  She knew the sound of tears being held back.  She'd done it a thousand times herself.  “Hey,” she got up and planned to walk all the way over, but somehow got caught hovering awkwardly near the kitchen table, “I, uh, I know how it feels.  My dad, he...he died, too.  Last year.”

 

Octavia looked up at that, wiping roughly at her eyes, “What happened?”

 

Clarke shrugged, “They don't really know.  He was at his office late, no one was around.  They found him at the bottom of the stairs.  They figure something made him fall.  Heart attack or something.”  It wasn't the whole story, not by a long shot.  But Clarke didn't want to tell the whole thing.  Not tonight.

 

“That's really awful, dude.  I'm sorry.”

 

“Thanks.  I don't mean to make you feel bad or anything, I just...not everybody really understands.  Unless it happens to you, you know?  So I just want you to know...I get it."

 

Octavia nodded. 

  
Clarke didn't know what else to say, so they just stood there, Octavia shifting from foot to foot.  It occurred to Clarke that maybe her friend was just as awkward with these sorts of things as she was.

 

"Sooooo, wanna hear about how Finn showed up at my dorm this morning?"

 

"Oh hell yes, I do."

 

She filled her in over their pizza and by the time she was done, she had the younger girl almost spitting out her food.

 

"Raven's so fucking awesome," Octavia choked out through her laughter, "Though I think maybe she should have punched him again.  So his eyes can match."

 

"I dunno," Clarke admitted, "He looked pretty pathetic already."

 

"Hey," Octavia pointed a warning finger, "No sympathy for fuckboys.  He's the one that made this mess in the first place."

 

"Yeah," Clarke sighed, "I guess so.  I still feel like a total idiot, though."

 

Octavia jumped up and started rummaging in her bag.  A second later, her iPod was plugged into a speaker and Meghan Trainor's voice filled the apartment at an almost deafening volume.

 

_I know you lie, cause your lips are moving, tell me do you think I'm dumb?_

 

Octavia danced around the table, waggling her fingers at Clarke.  When Clarke stayed seated, the younger girl grabbed her wrist and hauled her bodily out of the chair, "NO MORE SAD CLARKE," she yelled, "YES MORE DANCE CLARKE."

 

She wasn't normally given to dancing around like an idiot (she would probably get yelled at for thumping on the floor back home) but the song was one of her favorites and Octavia's enthusiasm was infectious.  So it wasn't long before Clarke was shaking her hips and bellowing the lyrics along with her.  But while Clarke had many talents, dancing in a way that could be called "coordinated" was not among them.  She was in the middle of attempting a 60's-style twist when she lost her balance and stumbled backwards into something warm and solid and very person-like.

 

"Watch it, Princess," she felt a broad hand push her back upright.

 

She whirled around and saw Bellamy standing there with a crooked smile on his face.

 

"Oh hey, Bell!  I thought you weren't gonna be home till late," Octavia panted as Clarke backed up a few paces, blushing to the roots of her hair and trying not to think too hard about how ridiculous she must have looked when he came in the door.

 

"Some trains got delayed on the other side of the mountains," he sank into a chair and yanked off his boots, "Wasn't anything else to do, so the Yard Master sent us home." 

 

"Big Bro works at the freight yard," Octavia said to Clarke, "He manages the trains and shit."

 

Bellamy laughed, "I help the  _Yard Master_  'manage trains and shit.'  And if I had known I was coming home to a vapid, Barbie-pink pop concert, I would have gone to the bar instead.  Can you please turn that crap off, O?"

 

She leaned towards the speaker and turned the volume up to an ear splitting decibel, "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of my awesome musical taste!" she yelled.

 

Her brother shot her an exasperated look and heaved himself to his feet.  In one smooth movement, he yanked the speaker cord out of the iPod and put the iPod on top of a kitchen cabinet beyond Octavia's reach, ignoring her indignant protests.  The maneuver had a practiced quality, like it was something he maybe did a lot.

 

"Damn it, Bell!" Octavia started dragging her chair over to the counter.

 

"What's the matter with pop music?" Clarke had gone from embarrassed to incensed.  Maybe the music had been a little loud but just because it was popular didn't make it bad music and  _she loved Meghan Trainor, damn it._

 

He leaned against the sink, crossing his arms, "Nothing.  Except for the fact that its mind-numbingly simplistic and also, as I said, incredibly vapid.  Its the cotton candy of the music world.  Everyone pretends to like it but in reality, its an overly processed mess, created with the sole purpose of making money."

 

"Yes, because every single other music artist does it purely from the goodness of their heart and not a single one of them has ever made millions off their work.  Oh wait, they do!" his only response was to raise an eyebrow, "Maybe if you actually listened to it-"

 

"I can't  _not_  listen to it," he jabbed a thumb at his sister, who was still trying to reach her iPod, "she blasts it all day, every day."

 

" _If you actually listened to it_ ," Clarke plowed on, speaking over Octavia's string of muttered curses, "you'd notice that there's a strong movement towards messages of acceptance and female empowerment in the work of several prominent artists, Meghan Trainor included.  The main reason people are so quick to disparage it is because its primary supporters are teenage girls and young adult women, a group that society absolutely loves to denigrate in any way possible," Octavia made a noise that could only be called a growl, "Dude, do you need a hand?"

 

"No, I'm fine," she grumbled.

 

"That's a lot of big words, Princess," Bellamy was reaching into the fridge for the orange juice carton, "Doesn't change the fact that its the melodic equivalent of baby talk.  And it gets stuck in your head for so long that it makes you want to punch an actual baby," he kicked the door shut and took a swig of juice straight from the carton, "And society doesn't respect the musical taste of teenage girls because teenage girls also listen One Direction and Justin Bee-whatever."

 

Clarke couldn't help the disgusted look on her face. Nor did she want to, "First of all, you're thinking of preteens.  And secondly, are you aware of how many germs that spreads?"

 

"Good thing its my orange juice, then," he smirked.  It was an attractive smirk.  It also made her want to punch him in his stupid freckled face.

 

_Y_ _ou gave some of that juice_ _to me_ _this morning,_ _jackass_ _._   Before she could point that out, Octavia gave a triumphant, "Ha!" and jumped down from the chair, iPod in hand, "It is also  _my_  orange juice, you moron.  And she's right, its disgusting.  Now would you please leave us alone so we can get some actual studying done?"

 

"Is that what was happening?" he took another drink, "Cause it looked a lot more like you guys got drunk and decided to try out for  _Hairspray_.”

 

This earned him a swift punch in the arm from his sister, which he did his best to ignore, "Get out, Bell."

 

For some reason, he looked over at Clarke like she was going to help him.   _Fat chance_.  She raised her eyebrows, "We were here first."

 

"Are you serious?" both girls refused to budge.  Bellamy rolled his eyes, "Can't believe I'm getting kicked out of my own kitchen."

 

" _Our_  kitchen!" Octavia insisted.

 

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a placating hand.  He took his time throwing half of their pizza and one of their bags of candy on a plate before grabbing both plate and juice and heading down the hallway, "Don't hurt yourselves," he called over his shoulder, "And for the love of God, no more of that Top 40 crap."

 

“He's so full of shit,” Octavia said quietly, “I've totally heard him listening to Taylor Swift when he thinks I'm not home.”

 

Clarke didn't see him again before she left.  Even so, her last thought before going to sleep that night was that Octavia's brother was an ass.  He was, unfortunately, still just as good looking.


End file.
